Michael likes to think he's versatile. That he can adapt to any situation with minimal complaining, because that's what good spies do. But – "Ooh! I'm going to put that in one of my books!" Some things are too much even for Michael Westen.
On the other side of the loft, their errant writer is looking over Sam's shoulder with something like infatuated admiration. Sam, currently cobbling together a routine cannibalized cell phone bug, chuckles. Their client doesn't seem to remember there's an entire drug cartel after him for locking up their New York distributer, or that his partner is somewhere in New York running down the other side of the operation. All he's thinking – and therefore blurting out – is "That's totally going in my next book." He drags up a stool and props both arms on the table so he can prepare himself to gesture emphatically as he monologues at Sam. "Unable to get a legal wire tap but knowing she has the right guy, Nikki Heat creates an illegal wiretap and has Rook monitor it. They overhear a dastardly plot for yet another murder, and have to decide whether to act on the illegally obtained information and save a life – or allow the murder to happen at catch their man at the scene of the crime."
Sam carefully dabs the welding iron onto the circuitry before setting it to cool down. He smiles distractedly, as if he had only been half-listening. "What, this?" he asks. "This is nothing." Michaels huffs very loudly to convey to Sam how incredibly immature showing off is, but the ex-SEAL just glances over with a smirk and swats Castle's shoulder for emphasis. "You should hear about the ring of trust Mikey and I pulled on this corrupt cop – also in the drug dealing business, coincidentally." Castle's eyes light up and he straightens excitedly. "Do tell!" He exclaims.
"Sam!" Mike calls. "Maybe we should keep our adventures appropriate for an audience that regularly works with the police."
"New York police," Castle corrects, "which means that anything I may or may not hear here is completely out of any jurisdiction. Besides," he counters with a shrug, "I'm a writer. This is research."
"You heard the man!" Sam adds. He ignores Michael's sour look and instead focuses back on the eagerly waiting Castle, leaning in closely. "The ring of trust, right? Well, we started out making five gallons of napalm…"